


Girl Like You

by whelvenwings



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Michelle Jones, Canon Universe, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, POV Michelle Jones, Peter Parker & Michelle Jones Friendship, Slow Dancing, Trapped In Elevator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-25
Packaged: 2019-07-17 14:59:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16098038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: MJ doesn't do opening up to people. She doesn't do dancing at lame parties. She doesn't do singing in public. She doesn't do losing control in any way that she could possibly help, ever. She also definitely does not do being trapped in an elevator - not after what happened at the Washington Monument.And then she meets Shuri.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [lesbiansassemble](http://lesbiansassemble.tumblr.com)'s [10k femslash challenge](https://lesbiansassemble.tumblr.com/post/176261554378/daihey-everyone-thank-you-all-for-following-me-i) \- I just wanted to write a quick fic, but I ended up totally falling in love with these characters and imagining how their relationship might grow and how they might fall in love. I hope you enjoy! <3

“- and she’s coming to our school?  _ Our  _ school?”

“Ned. I’m not kidding.”

“Tell me this isn’t like the time in eighth grade when -”

“No, I swear to God, it’s not like the time you ate your own eraser.”

“You  _ said  _ that you’d switched out one of my things for candy and it just looked so -”

MJ folded her arms, sank down in her seat on the bus, and tried to tune out the conversation Peter and Ned were having in front of her. 

“I said that because I thought you’d  _ guess _ , not just pick something up and chew on it…”

She closed her eyes, and pictured her desk back at home: and there they were - her headphones, sitting on top of her laptop. Exactly where she’d left them, trudging past in an early-morning haze on her way out of the door; their wire curled up in an enticing beckon, promising bass thick enough to drown out whatever was going on in front of her.

“No, no, seriously,” Peter was saying. “I swear, she’s actually coming to our school.”

MJ’s head was aching. Last night had held an accidental Wikipedia binge, hopping from article to article, reading all the new tech pages that were springing up like weeds on the sidewalk;  _ Kimoyo Beads. Ring Blades. Vibranium Strike Gauntlets.  _ The details were sparse and there wasn’t a lot to go on - but over the course of the six hours MJ had spent lost down the rabbit hole, at least two of the articles had already grown extra subsections. New information was flooding in. 

It had made MJ’s heart thud as she sat bathed in the blueish light of her laptop at three in the morning, on the night before the first day of junior year.

And it was only now, as she sat on the bus and tried desperately to convince her body that closing her eyes constituted more sleep, that she felt even the slightest twinge of regret. Watching this stuff happen was once-in-a-lifetime.

“Hey, MJ.” Ned’s voice, loud enough to be heard clearly over the roar of the bus, made MJ frown. “MJ.”

“Mmm.” She did her best impression of a person who was extremely asleep.

“EM JAY.” 

She slit her eyes open, making sure that her stare encompassed the exact right ratio of tiredness, irritation, lack of investment, and sheer dead-eyed scariness as possible. Ned hitched on a grin in the face of it, clearly not appreciating the artistry that went into the expression’s careful emotional makeup.

“Did you know about this?” he said, gesturing with one hand towards Peter. The bus rattled onto the school grounds, stop-starting to avoid the students running across the path. MJ glanced from Ned to Peter’s profile and back again, making sure to look completely disinterested.

“Know about what,” she said flatly.

“Who’s joining the school this year?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Really?” Peter spun completely in his seat to look at her. MJ’s eyes flicked over to him - his brown hair a slight mess, as usual, though she could see that there had been some attempts to school it into a definite style. He, too, looked tired, though MJ could concede in the privacy of her own head that he wore it with better humour than she did herself. “How’d  _ you  _ know?”

“Because we’re best friends already,” MJ said.

“You  _ what?” _

“Oh, yeah. Me and my dear friend  _ Please Shut Up  _ go way back.” She glared at the pair of them, and then shut her eyes.

“What’s up with you?” she heard Ned say. “Late night?”

“You really wanna know?”

“Uh… yeah, I gue-”

“I was hanging out with  _ Please Shut Up.  _ Having a ton of good times.”

“You’re mean.”

MJ snorted. The bus came to a complete stop, and the doors sighed open; MJ kept her eyes tightly closed for a few seconds longer, trying to enjoy the feeling as much as she possibly could while everyone around her scrambled for their bags and began to pile out into the parking lot.

“Ding ding,” she heard Ned say. “This is our stop.”

“Ugh.”

Rolling her eyes behind closed lids, she grabbed for her backpack on the empty seat beside her, and slouched off the bus behind Ned and Peter. She winced against the sunlight, sleeplessness watering everything around her down to a kind of liquid surreality. She yawned - but even as she did so, even as most of her mind was dedicated to wishing that she was back in her bed with her head on a soft pillow and her comforter pulled all the way up to her chin, even as she blinked slowly and sleepily - she realised that there was some kind of commotion happening across on the other side of the parking lot.

“Oh my god,” Ned said, punching Peter - surprisingly hard, MJ thought, but Peter didn’t seem to really feel it. “Oh, my god, it’s happening. It is happening.”

The words  _ what’s happening  _ were on the tip of MJ’s tongue; an image of Ned’s smug face rose up in front of her, how happy he’d be at knowing something she didn’t after she’d been rude on the bus, and she bit back her questions. Instead, she started to head quickly towards the school - directly away from the crowd. There were a few odd looks thrown her way by all the people heading in the opposite direction, but she paid them no attention whatsoever.

The growing melee surged behind her as she walked through the school gates, not meeting anyone’s eye. Instead of going inside, though, she took a quick right, heading for a conveniently placed wall that started low and slowly sloped upwards; climbing up, she walked her way to higher ground, peering over the heads of the crowd in the parking lot. 

She was too far away to see what was really happening, except that there were four sleek black cars all parked side by side, and some women in red standing absolutely still and eyeing the general ruckus of students. They seemed to be keeping some kind of peace just by looking vaguely ready to kill anyone who looked at them.

MJ stared, wishing she could so effortlessly channel that kind of energy.

The clothes they were wearing… she narrowed her eyes. She knew that armour, she knew those patterns. They all had shaved heads, too - no hair for anyone to grab onto in a fight.

She blinked. Surely, it wasn’t possible. She’d just spent all night reading about these exact women and their country and their weapons and their technology, and now she was sleep deprived, and seeing things. These could  _ not  _ be the Dora Milaje.

MJ wasn’t even completely clear on how that was pronounced, let alone being prepared to see them in her school’s parking lot.

And then, out of one of the cars, stepped a girl.

MJ felt her breathe leave her, before she’d even fully registered who she was looking at. Dressed in lowkey, casual clothes - just jeans, a t-shirt, and a black and white jacket, with her hair tied up at the back of her head - was a person MJ knew by sight, instantly. Someone she’d read about; someone she followed on Twitter; someone she’d seen on the news, announcing the arrival of new outreach buildings across the country. Someone she’d actually considered getting Snapchat for, just to see her stories and selfies. 

Shuri, Princess of Wakanda.

The crowd around Shuri were going wild, yelling and waving. The Dora Milaje were looking, somehow, even more stern as they kept the tide of teenage enthusiasm at bay. Shuri offered them all a grin, and MJ felt her heart flip in her chest.

With a little nod of her head, Shuri began to walk towards the school. Like a flock of seagulls, the students all around her shuffled and squawked at each other, following along; Shuri seemed unfazed, not ignoring them, but just smiling around and occasionally laughing.

She must be used to this by now, MJ thought. 

“I told my brother,” she heard the Princess say as she headed through the gates. “I told him, I wanted to take the bus! The big cars will only make it worse! Tomorrow I’m taking the bus here and there’s nothing he can do about it…”

MJ shifted, almost falling off the wall. Shuri was going to be here - not just for one day, but for  _ two?  _

The suddenness of her movement must have caught Shuri’s eye. Down below, the Princess jerked her head up - frowning, her eyes drifted upwards too - and quite suddenly, MJ found herself meeting the gaze of the Princess of Wakanda.

MJ froze.

Shuri’s eyebrows raised slightly, and her mouth crooked into a smile - a small one, genuine, not for show - as she took in MJ standing atop the wall. MJ swallowed. Before there was time to smile politely, or wave, or do anything at all, the moment was over. Shuri had walked into the school, her eyes sliding away.

When the swirling wave of students chasing after her had washed inside with her, MJ hopped down off the wall. She leaned back against it; she could still feel her heart pounding. 

Shuri had  _ smiled. _

And MJ hadn’t even tried to tame her hair this morning, beyond shoving it into a bun at the back of her head. Not that she expected someone as smart as Shuri to be making judgements about someone based on how many flyaways they had going on, hair-wise, or how beat-up their shoes looked, or how probably vacant and awestruck their expression was…

MJ breathed out. But Shuri had  _ smiled.  _

She found herself half-smiling down at the ground, just thinking about it.

“So, how did you enjoy meeting Princess  _ Please Shut Up _ ?”she heard a voice say. She looked up, blinking away her mind’s looped replaying of the moment that had just happened.

Ned was smiling at her smugly, while Peter stared up the steps after Shuri.

MJ considered using words to reply, and then decided a simple gesture would do the trick. 

“Aw, come on. That’s not nice.”

They headed inside as a reluctant, ragged trio.

“So… she’s here because…” MJ said, unable to resist fishing for information any longer.

“To go to school,” Ned finished for her. “Something about community outreach or whatever.” MJ tried to keep walking normally, tried to keep breathing. Shuri. The Princess of Wakanda - a title so grandiose that it sounded ridiculous even to think it -  _ that  _ Shuri. Was going to be here every day? Was going to take classes? Was going to join band or the cheer squad, was going to go to parties, was going to - to go to high school? 

“But she’s, like… a genius,” MJ said, sounding stupid to herself. “Like… she doesn’t need high school.”

Ned shrugged, while Peter looked thoughtful.

“Peter, does she even know about -” Ned began.

“Don’t know,” Peter said shortly, with a pointed look, before seeming to sink back into his thoughts. MJ narrowed her eyes at the pair of them, before shrugging it off.

Whatever. Those guys were losers.

And Shuri had  _ smiled. _


	2. Chapter 2

A week later, and the shock hadn’t even started to wear off. Shuri was, somehow, everywhere - laughing in the hallways with big groups of people around her, or holding up her hand in class to give her thousandth correct answer, or eating in the cafeteria with an expression of stoicism on her face.

_ Try the chicken strips instead of the burger next time,  _ MJ wanted to go up to her and say. And then sit down in front of her, and laugh with her about some really clever things that would possibly even impress her. Maybe ask her about school in Wakanda and how she got to know so much about science at such a young age. Maybe ask her how she was finding life in New York. Maybe ask her how she’d feel about going someplace together sometime like the movies, or a coffee shop, or…

“Hey, MJ!”

Snapped out of her reverie, MJ realised she’d been standing several feet away from Shuri, lost in thought - and totally, 100% staring at her. She turned away quickly, looking for whoever had shouted her name.

“Parker,” she said grimly when she saw him. Peter was headed for her, his own lunch tray piled ridiculously high. Was he eating for two? MJ had seriously started to wonder. She was about to comment on it, but Peter got his remark in first.

“You should stop staring before it gets creepy,” he said, and grinned at her brightly, and then walked away.

MJ could only watch after him. When she finally glanced back to Shuri, she could have sworn the Princess’ eyes flicked away from her, as though she’d been watching - but that had to be wishful thinking. Or, if anything, Shuri had probably been staring because she wanted to know who the creeper was who’d been staring at her first.

MJ shoved her full tray onto the nearest table, grabbed the apple off it, and left the cafeteria. Making a fool of herself was the best way to lose her appetite.

***

“So, the three most stable hydrogen isotopes would be…”

“Protium, deuterium, tritium,” Shuri said confidently.

“That’s right. Do I even need to tell you it’s right anymore?” 

“Nope,” said a voice from the back of the class. There were a few sniggers. Shuri, sitting closer to the front - right in line with MJ, but a few seats over - didn’t give any sign that she’d heard. There was a slightly hard expression in her eyes, though.

MJ wondered if it bothered her, how people laughed at how clever she was. They didn’t mean it badly - MJ had seen what it looked like when these kids meant things badly, and this wasn’t it - but still, for someone new, it probably didn’t feel great.

_ She’s a Princess,  _ MJ reminded herself.  _ A literal Princess. She is so far above feeling bad about this crap. _

Shuri glanced sideways, and caught MJ’s eyes. MJ hurriedly looked down at her desk, not wanting to be caught staring again - she’d make Shuri worry that she had an actual stalker, if she wasn’t careful.

***

“So,” Peter said. “How’s it going.”

“Concentrate on the question, Parker.”

They were running through trivia before the start of their AcaDec meeting; somehow, they’d both managed to turn up early, and were sitting together on the edge of the stage in the hall. MJ had suggested quizzing each other as a way to avoid talking too much about anything in particular.

It didn’t seem to be working, however.

“Nineteen oh-one. Princess Shuri is really something, huh.”

“Who wrote  _ Molecular Structure of Nucleic Acids: A Structure for Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid _ ?”

“Watson and Crick. Weird to have her around the place.”

“Who flew the U2 plane that crashed in the USSR in 1960?” 

“Gary Powers. She asked about you yesterday.”

MJ went still.

Peter raised his eyebrows.

“What did she… want to know?” MJ couldn’t help asking, but in tones of deep suspicion. Surely it was impossible. How would Shuri even know who she was, to ask?

Was it the couple of times she'd caught MJ staring?

“She was asking some senior about the girl who was standing on the wall when she first arrived at the school. Said she wanted to meet her.”

MJ swallowed, and looked down at the book in her hands, not knowing what to say. She wanted to smile - wanted to stand up, run around, leap in the air or do a cartwheel or something - but Peter was there, watching her, and all she could do was press her lips together and shrug.

“Do you like her?” he said. “I’ve seen you kinda… looking at her… in class?”

“Why’d you care so much about my business, Peter,” she demanded.

Peter snorted, and lifted up his hands.

“OK,” he said. “OK. Man. Sometimes, you are bad at having friends.”

MJ was quiet, flicking through the pages of her book.

“I’m out of practice,” she said. And then, after a while, “Who wrote  _ The Sleeping Beauty  _ ballet in 1889?”


	3. Chapter 3

Two weeks in, MJ was on the morning bus - sitting behind Peter and Ned, regretting all the life choices that had brought her to the point of having to listen in on their conversation, as per usual - when the bus groaned to a stop and in, through the grimy doors, stepped Shuri.

Shuri. Breathing in the stale bus air. Wearing dark jeans and white shoes, her hair in two tight curls on either side of her head. Her eyes bright. Her expression a little unreadable, but full of confidence.

The entire bus went quiet.

Shuri visibly swallowed, and MJ found her hands clenching around the jacket on her lap; she breathed out, and almost as though Shuri had heard it, she turned to look right at MJ.

Their gaze caught, and held. 

Moving easily - gracefully - Shuri walked down the aisle of the bus, every eye on her as she went, and dropped into the perennially empty seat on MJ’s right side.

MJ found that she couldn’t move. Her heart was pounding. Shuri was so close that the sleeve of her jacket was brushing MJ’s bare arm; MJ could smell that she was wearing perfume, a light scent that she didn’t recognise but that was delicious. Gripping her jacket even tighter, MJ willed herself to behave like a normal person as the bus moved off again.

She glanced sideways. Shuri had been facing the front, but when MJ moved, she turned to look back at her.

They were so close. Breathing was suddenly, somehow, off the cards.

“Hey,” MJ heard herself say. Up close, Shuri was so beautiful that it almost hurt to look at her. Her eyes were sharp, her lips soft-looking.

_ God, I’m gay. _

_ I mean, I’m bi. But like, god, I’m gay. _

It was the single most heartfelt thought that MJ could muster, under the circumstances.

And then Shuri smiled, again, and it all got a hundred times worse.

“Hello, Girl from the Wall,” she said.

MJ felt her soul detach, and ascend.

“Oh, right,” she said. “You, uh… remember.”

“Of course.” Shuri’s tone was casual. “I liked your sneakers.”

“My kicks? They’re… old,” MJ said, her head still spinning. “Like, hella old.”

“Say they’re vintage,” Shuri said, a touch conspiratorially. “It sounds better.”

MJ smiled at her - a weak little smile, shy - but Shuri blinked and her expression seemed to warm just at the sight of it.

“I finally convinced my brother to let me ride the bus today,” she said. “I’m glad I did.”

“Me too,” MJ said, with more feeling than she’d intended. Shuri met her eyes for a moment, amused, before looking back to the front of the bus. 

“He’s very protective,” she said. “I tried to tell him that I could probably destroy anyone who tried to fight me, but… he seemed to think that there could be some very interesting things happening at the school.”

Her eyes, for some reason, were on the back of Peter Parker’s head as she said it - Peter turned around at her words, as though he’d been listening in.

“Did he tell you… where those interesting things might be coming from?” he asked. It was an odd question, MJ thought. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Not precisely,” Shuri said. “But I think I have figured it out.”

Peter looked worried in a way that made no sense to MJ at all. His erratic behaviour was paradoxically standard, at this point - but this was weird, even for him.

“There definitely aren’t interesting things,” he said. “It’s the most boring school ever. Right, Ned?”

“Right.” Ned nodded, a little too earnestly.

Shuri’s smile was strangely sardonic as she said,

“So, there’s no need to keep an eye on this place?”

“None that I know of,” Peter said blandly. Ned’s gaze was jumping from one of them to the other, eyes wide.

A few moments of significance seemed to pass between the three of them.

“Hey, Parker,” said MJ. “Did someone invite you into this conversation? Because I don’t remember doing that. And I don’t remember… uh…” MJ gestured towards Shuri, her mind suddenly fizzling. How were you supposed to refer to a Princess who went to your school and rode the bus next to you? 

Her Royal Highness? 

The most beautiful girl in the entire world? 

This person sitting beside me?

“My name is Shuri,” Shuri supplied, sounding profoundly amused. MJ could feel her face start to burn.

“Right. Uh, neither did Her Royal Shuri. Her - Shuri. Crap. God. I’m - oh, my god.”

She sank down in her seat as Shuri burst out laughing; the tension melted as Peter laughed along with her, and Ned grinned and shook his head. MJ pulled the jacket on her lap up to cover her face, hiding from the world; her heart actually clinically stopped, she was pretty sure, when she felt Shuri’s hand on her own, guiding the jacket away.

“Her Royal Shuri,” she said. “That’s… definitely a new one. What’s your name?”

“Michelle,” MJ said. “But I like MJ.”

“MJ, then,” Shuri said.

MJ’s hand sparked like lithium in water where Shuri had touched it, for hours after she’d got off the bus.

***

They sat together on the bus every morning, after that - sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting quietly in each other’s company. It was simple, it was easy; it made MJ’s heart swell in her chest every single time that Shuri got on the bus and actually chose to sit next to her again. Everyone else seemed to have got used to it; even Ned and Peter didn’t so much as look back at the pair of them, these days, on most mornings -  but for MJ, every day felt like the first.

And every day, she worried that it was the last.

Then there was the morning the bus broke down. All of them piled out onto the sidewalk at the driver’s instruction, caught between excitement at the strangeness of having the bus clunk to an unexpected stop, and excitement at missing school. Shuri stood by MJ’s side; it was only when they stood next to each other that MJ really noticed how much taller she was. Shuri’s head was just the right height to rest on her shoulder.

As a random, non-specific example, MJ added to herself. All the times she’d imagined Shuri’s head resting on her shoulder as they’d sat on the bus whispered that the example was at the bare least a  _ little  _ specific, but she pushed the thought away. 

Shuri was a Princess. And the pair of them sat together on the bus, so what? That didn’t even make them friends, not really. They never talked about real stuff, just classes and school things. Nothing was  _ happening. _

Shuri had her arms folded against the New York cold as they waited for the bus to be fixed, and MJ considered offering her the scarf around her own neck. A man strode past them on the sidewalk, loudly humming a few lines from a song MJ thought she recognised. What was that, Taylor Swift? No, someone else. That song from Twilight, ugh. Christina Perri?

“Wish I had that kind of confidence,” she muttered with a touch of humour, as a few people laughed after the guy. Shuri looked at her, and looked round at the man’s retreating back, and then looked back at MJ.

“Hmm?”

“Just, like, singing in public.”

Shuri looked pensive. MJ watched her for a second, eyes wandering over her face, before looking down at the ground.

And then her head snapped back up as Shuri took in a deep breath, and sang -  _ loudly,  _ so loudly - sang,

“I HAVE DIED, EVERY DAY, WAIIIIIIIITING FOR YOU -”

MJ could only stare at her, mouth falling open, as everyone turned to look. She felt her eyes going wide. She felt her heart swoop. In a single swift moment of absolute clarity, as Shuri sang at full volume in the middle of a crowded street just because MJ had said she wished she could - in that moment, MJ felt the full force of an emotion that ran deep hit her right in the chest.

“DARLING, DON’T BE AFRAID -”

Her classmates were starting to laugh. How was this stupid song actually cute when she sang it? Was it the accent? Was it the fact that she was looking right into MJ’s eyes as she sang these schmaltzy lyrics at full volume? God, this wasn’t just some stupid crush that was going to fade in a few weeks, was it? MJ’s heart was soaring, and it felt so good that it hurt.

“IIIII HAVE LOVED YOU -”

She wasn’t even in tune. It didn’t even matter.

“OK, OK, stop!” MJ reached forward to press her hand over Shuri’s mouth, starting to laugh just because of the ridiculousness of it, the nervousness in her chest, the butterflies. Shuri let her do it, but kept singing through her hand, the words muffled.

“FOR A THOOOUUUUSAND YEARS… I’LL LMF YOU FOR A THMFSMF MFF -” Her words became completely unintelligible as she broke down into laughter behind MJ’s hand, reaching up to pull it away from her mouth. MJ was shaking her head, trying to look normal and smiley, and not like she’d just realised she might possibly be genuinely having Real Feelings with worryingly emphatic capitals.

“You are…” she said, and then didn’t know how to finish the sentence - her words stolen away by how much she felt, and how strongly.

Thankfully, Shuri was too busy laughing to notice.


	4. Chapter 4

A week later, at lunch, MJ rounded the back of the bleachers, looking for a bit of peace and quiet to eat the sandwich she’d brought in with her. All the extracurriculars were really starting to kick her ass; she needed time to recharge, she needed time to draw and listen to music and think, and she wasn’t getting it. So she’d picked up her sketchbook, and come out here. Under the bleachers was a little dark to draw well, and she didn’t have any references, but she figured that if she didn’t keep trying, she’d never be able to get past the art block that had settled down on her like a landfall over the past couple of months.

As soon as she turned the corner of the bleachers, though, she realised that she wasn’t going to be able to have her alone time; there was someone already here, just a silhouette in the shadows under the tiered seats, leaning up against one of the pillars.

“Oh,” MJ said, as the figure turned quickly to look at her. “Uh. Right. I’ll just…” A slat of light fell across the figure’s face as they moved slightly, and MJ’s tone changed. “Oh… hey. I, um... didn’t realise it was you.”

“Ah. Hello, Girl from the Wall,” Shuri said. She hadn’t called MJ that in so long. Her voice sounded a little raspy. It occurred to MJ that she might have been crying, but that seemed unlikely. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just came to hide, actually,” MJ said. “Lots of people everywhere.”

“Definitely,” Shuri said, with feeling.

“Look, I should go…” MJ said awkwardly, but Shuri made an uncharacteristically ungraceful movement towards her.

“No, stay,” Shuri said. “If you want.”

“You just said you were tired of people…”

“Ah, well. You’re not people,” Shuri said. “Are you?”

The way she said it made MJ think that maybe - just possibly - Shuri wasn’t only talking about the discrepancy between the plural  _ people,  _ and MJ’s decidedly singular self.

“I guess maybe not,” MJ said. She had really wanted to hide here - and if she was honest with herself, the opportunity to talk, alone, with Shuri under the bleachers sounded like one of her daydreams come true. In fact, if she was remembering last Thursday’s Math class fantasising right, it really  _ was  _ a daydream come true.

She stepped into the shadows, and sat down. Shuri dropped to the ground beside her, and leant up against one of the metal pillars keeping the bleachers upright.

“Who are you hiding from?” she said.

MJ shrugged. “Just everyone, really. Like, I get really tired of being around so many people. Even when no one’s looking at me, it’s still, like… a lot.”

“I understand,” Shuri said. Again, something in her voice made MJ wonder whether she’d been crying; it really did seem impossible, though. Shuri was - well, she was Shuri. Cheerful, smart, sharp as a diamond and twice as hard. Shuri didn’t cry. Why would she even need to?

“What about you?” MJ asked tentatively. “Is something…” She let the sentence trail off, giving Shuri the chance to cut in and brush off the question. Instead, though, Shuri went quiet for a few long, long moments.

“It’s just that they all expect me to be a Princess,” she said. “All the time. And I am a Princess, all the time. But sometimes…” MJ heard her swallow. “Sometimes I just feel like a person who’s really far away from home.”

The emotion in Shuri’s voice was raw. MJ wanted to reach out her hand and hold Shuri’s, wanted to hug her - but she wanted that for more than one reason, and it felt wrong to make use of Shuri’s sadness to find an excuse to touch. Instead, MJ said,

“Well, you don’t have to play Princess for me.”

Shuri was quiet for even longer, this time.

“Why not?” she said.

MJ struggled for the words.

“Because,” she said. “I don’t matter. You can do whatever you want, I won’t judge.”

Shuri’s snort of laughter was sudden, and unexpected. MJ was struck by how she much she still didn’t understand Shuri, how much there was to her, how many of her thoughts were out of MJ’s reach.

“What?” she said.

“It’s funny… you thinking you don’t matter.”

“What? Why?”

“Well. What’s in that book?” Shuri asked suddenly, the topic change fast enough to cause whiplash. MJ instinctively reached out and pushed the sketchbook beside her back, out of sight - but then remembered who she was sitting with, and hesitantly drew it forward again.

“Just stuff I draw,” she said. Shuri reached out a hand for it - hopeful, but not demanding - and MJ conceded, letting Shuri take the book.

“Can I?” Shuri said aloud. MJ nodded.

“OK… but it’s not really...”

“Shit!” The exclamation was as sudden as it was unexpected, as soon as Shuri flipped over to the first page.

“What?!”

“You’re  _ good. _ ”

MJ could feel her thudding heart kick up even higher, a pleased smile stealing over her face without her permission.

“You think so?”

“Yes! Look at this one! It looks just like him.” Shuri tapped her finger against a picture of Peter that MJ had drawn the year before; his eyes were wide, and he had an expression on his face as though he was regretting something that he’d just said.

“Ah, Peter’s easy to draw,” MJ said. “He’s like, always in crisis. My preferred medium.” She said it dryly, but Shuri would be able to see the truth of it; just about every portrait in the sketchbook wore an expression of sadness, or worry, or frustration.

“Why do they all look so unhappy?”

MJ shifted uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” she said. 

“Don’t you?”

“I really don’t.”

Shuri gave her a look. MJ shrugged, self-conscious.

“I don’t know... it makes me feel. Good? To draw that? As though, like.” Her sentences were getting more and more staccato with awkwardness. “Like. Feeling like that. Could be OK? Because it’s… art? I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t know why I do it.”

Shuri kept turning the pages, her expression thoughtful from what MJ could make out in the soft gloom.

“No, it makes sense. If you can create something, you can feel like you solved it. Or you made it better, or you control it.”

“Control,” MJ said, the word like a sudden beam of sunlight, throwing what she felt into sharp relief. “Yeah. Exactly.”

“I do the same, sometimes. With technology, in my lab, back at home. There’s a crisis, and I feel like I can control it if I can make technology that would help if it ever happened again. So I make suits for my brother and I make communicators and weapons…”

She went quiet.

“At least you’re helping,” MJ said. “I’m just… like… documenting it. It’s super weird.”

“You think making art is worse than making weapons?” Shuri sounded serious. 

“Well…”

“I’ve always just done what I know how to do to protect my country and the people I care about. I trick myself into believing that I can control any situation because of what I’ve made. But if I could… if circumstances allowed... I would rather give myself the illusion of control by drawing.” She shrugged. “It’s all in our heads, either way. And art doesn’t kill people.”

MJ swallowed.

“You’ve clearly never been in Miss Jones’ class for art,” she said. “The boredom is more lethal than anything else known to man.”

Shuri laughed, and dropped her head. MJ watched her, not knowing what to say - so she opened her mouth, and said the first thing that popped into her head, for once not shutting herself up.

“You’re so far ahead of us,” she said softly. “Not just the tech. You’ve seen so much stuff that we, like, can’t even imagine. I read on Wikipedia that you fought for your life while on a conference call with the CIA to teach them how to fly a jet.”

Shuri’s half-smile in the dark held more than a touch of irony.

“Close,” she said. “Not exactly.” She shrugged. “I came here because my brother wanted me to assess a situation in this area. But I stayed, because… well, partly, anyway... because I just wanted to feel normal. Like any other kid at this high school. Like I wasn’t the person who had to do all those things. See all those things. I had to fight, and I… I feel different.”

Her voice trailed away. There was a long silence.

“What are you thinking?” Shuri said. MJ swallowed hard.

“I don’t know.”

“You do. You’re thinking something.” Shuri’s voice was light enough that MJ felt herself wanting to talk, wanting to say what was on her mind. It happened so rarely that it took her by surprise, and she found herself speaking.

“I’m thinking… you are that person,” MJ said. “Who had to do all that stuff to keep people safe. Keep yourself alive. But that doesn’t mean you can’t go to high school and have fun, if that’s what you want to do. You don’t have to run away from being yourself to belong here.” She lifted one shoulder awkwardly. “Maybe no one else at school really gets it, but we’re all going through our own stuff. No one’s normal.”

Shuri was quiet again. MJ appreciated the silences, the way that Shuri thought before she spoke. She was careful, and considered, not talking without knowing what she was going to say; it threw into light how quickly Shuri must think, usually, when she fired off answers and jokes and arguments in class and in the hallways.

“I feel like I’m tricking people when they like me,” Shuri said eventually, very quietly. “I know why I did the things I did, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that everyone would agree with them. I think a lot of people would hate me if they knew some of the things I’ve made and what I’ve done.”

She sounded small. MJ wanted to hold her hand, so badly.

“I’m not people,” she said. “We already decided that.”

Shuri breathed out.

“Really?” she said, like it mattered.

“I think you kicked ass,” MJ said solidly. “Not a lot of people could have done it.”

There were a thousand more things she wanted to say - floral praises, words to express the sense of wonder and admiration she had for Shuri and her intelligence, her determination, her genius. They all stuck in her throat, caught behind the way that she felt, which rested heavily all the way through her.

It seemed to be enough, though. Shuri reached for MJ’s hand, and squeezed it briefly.

She took it away before MJ had a chance to squeeze back.


	5. Chapter 5

“Can I listen?”

Shuri dropped down onto the grass beside MJ, who slid off her headphones with a smile. She was sitting with Peter and Ned in the cafeteria - well,  _ with  _ them was a strong way to put it given that she was sitting a little way over from them and had her headphones on, but it felt more sociable than going and hiding under the bleachers again, so she counted it.

“Uh. Sure.” She made to pass her headphones over, but Shuri smiled and touched a fingertip to what looked like a dark, shining stone in her ear.

“Whoa,” MJ said, and then smiled as Shuri began to laugh. “What?”

“You’re listening to... ABBA?”

Out of the corner of her eye, MJ saw Peter and Ned’s heads turn towards them simultaneously, and knew she wouldn’t live this one down for a while. She shrugged.

“Listen,” she said. “I hate that I love it, but I do.”

“I haven’t listened to this since I was tiny,” Shuri said, starting to tap her hands on the table in time with the beat. MJ put her headphones back on just as the familiar voices sang,

_ My, my! At Waterloo, Napoleon did surrender… _

“Oh yeah!” MJ mouthed along with the song, and Shuri burst out laughing, so she kept going. “And I have met my destiny in quite a similar way…” Shuri was dancing along just a little, shaking her shoulders, still laughing at MJ’s lip-sync. “The history book on the shelf… is always repeating itself…”

“WATERLOO,” they both mouthed together, leaning in closer. “I WAS DEFEATED, YOU WON THE WAR…”

They were pressed near, shoulders touching, both laughing. Shuri moved her hand; for a second, MJ thought she was going to reach up and brush away the hair that had fallen over her face - but then, quite suddenly, Shuri leaned back and looked away to her left, eyebrows raising.

MJ followed her gaze, and realised that there were some people standing close by; people who must have called Shuri by name, because she was saying something back to them. Hoping they’d go away quickly, MJ didn’t pause the music - but a minute or so later, she had to admit defeat.

MJ pulled off her headphones, and heard Shuri say,

“No, thanks. I’m OK here.”

The guy at the front of the group - thin, blonde, with a piercing in one ear and the confidence of a senior - gave MJ a slow look, and then said,

“... okay. Well, the offer’s still there for tonight. My address is -”

“I can find it,” said Shuri coolly. “If I want it.”

The guy shrugged, and walked away. His group followed him. MJ recognised Flash Thompson, and gave him a dead-eyed stare on principle.

There was an awkward pause, after they’d left.

“He didn’t seem to like you,” Shuri said. MJ shrugged.

“No one seems to like me,” she said. “But they feel deadly fear of me.”

Somewhere in the background, she could hear Peter and Ned voicing complaints - but MJ only had eyes for Shuri, who crooked her mouth into a smile and shook her head.

“Was that a party you got invited to?” MJ said, wanting to change the subject. “Like, your first American high school party invite?”

“Yes,” Shuri said. “But I don’t think -”

“You should go,” MJ said. Shuri gave her a look.

“Why?”

“Parties have free food. And, like, you know.” MJ shrugged. “Authentic high school experience, or something?”

“Well, only if you come,” Shuri said. MJ felt her heart perform some intricate acrobatics in her chest.

“MJ always goes to parties,” Peter cut in, from the table over. When MJ narrowed her eyes at him, he gave her an innocent-looking grin.

“Do I?”

“Come to this one,” Shuri said.

She nudged into MJ with her shoulder persuasively, but there was no need. MJ had known she was going from the moment Shuri had asked her to. The butterflies in her stomach didn’t allow for any other answer.

***

The party started off lame. MJ made toast, and ate it.

Shuri had been cornered by some senior jocks who wanted to talk to her about Wakandan training regimens and steroids, and she seemed to be talking with them animatedly enough. MJ glanced at her through the kitchen door every now and then as she savoured the taste of peanut butter, and wished she was at home.

“Hey, have you seen Alex?” said a girl, her long blonde hair swinging, as she peered into the kitchen.

“I don’t know,” MJ said.

The girl frowned. “What do you mean… you don’t know?”

MJ shrugged. “Don’t know who he is. I might have seen him, I wouldn’t know.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “OK, asshole. Bye.”

She walked away. MJ caught herself wishing that Shuri had been there for the moment; Shuri, probably, would have appreciated the joke. Would have called after the girl to lighten up as she walked away.

Somewhere in this big, strange house, music was playing; MJ thought that it was coming from upstairs. At least she wasn’t surrounded by sweaty people dancing - but even still, she didn’t want to be here. She took the last bite of peanut butter toast, and the free food had been eaten; Shuri looked occupied enough, having moved on from the jocks and into a conversation with a girl who had bright blue hair and three ear piercings.

Something about the blue-haired girl’s body language gave MJ a stab in her chest, a feeling she couldn’t name. The girl was leaning back against a wall, and ran her hand through her hair to shake it out as MJ watched. Shuri had her back to the kitchen now, so MJ couldn’t see her expression, but the way she was tilting her head was soft and interested.

It was time to go home.

Heart in her mouth, MJ left the kitchen and quickly crossed the lounge, heading for the front door. She could walk home; she didn’t live far away. The night was cold outside, but it seemed like a far better idea to sneak away than to spend the night being ignored.

It was funny, MJ thought to herself, how she normally went out of her way to get ignored by everyone - avoided company, made herself obscure and lonely. She just felt comfortable that way. In control. In sophomore year, she’d have hung around at the party until gone midnight, observing people and eating toast and having a complicated and opaque kind of fun while confusing drunk people with weird questions.

Tonight, being ignored felt like the worst thing that could have happened. She pushed open the front door, and headed out into the night.

The cool air bit into her lungs. The music got louder as she stepped out onto the wide, red-bricked drive flanked on either side with neatly tended flowerbeds; when she glanced up, MJ saw that there was a balcony upstairs onto which the doors were flung open, and music was blaring out through them. They were going to have the cops called on them, if they weren’t careful. Taylor Swift sang  _ look what you made me do, look what you made me do  _ to the street, and it sounded too angry and too caustic to sit well in MJ’s burning chest.

She turned away, and began to walk home. She could have a nice mug of cocoa when she got in, like a grandmother. Maybe do some drawing - she still hadn’t managed to get past that art block, but she could give it a try. Look in the mirror, and draw herself in crisis.

Or maybe she’d just sleep.

“Hey!”

The one word was enough for MJ to recognise her voice. She was tempted, briefly, to keep walking - to just ignore Shuri, see how she liked it - but her feet were already stopping for her, she was already turning around.

She met Shuri’s eyes and lifted her shoulders, as if to say,  _ what. _

“You’re leaving?” Shuri’s expression was hard to read. She’d put on lipstick and some eyeshadow for the party, her hair in a complicated updo, and she was wearing a high-necked top with dark jeans. The lights that lined the drive caught in the darkness of her eyes; she tilted her head ever so slightly, questioning. Just looking at her was enough to make MJ’s chest ache in the same way that breathing in cold air hurt her lungs - it was what she needed, and it was painful.

How did this matter so much? When had her body started this brutally intense reaction to her happiness or her disappointment, just because of Shuri?

“Yeah,” she managed to say. “I… uh...” MJ shrugged, again. She didn’t want to be dramatic. Shuri owed her nothing. “You were doing great in there, you didn’t need me. I’m weird at parties anyway. You’ll do better without…”

“I didn’t even dance yet,” Shuri said, cutting across her.

MJ breathed out.

“I don’t dance,” she said softly.

Shuri’s expression was disbelieving. “Everyone dances. Come on, dance with me. It’s a high school party.”

“I really… don’t dance. You should ask someone in there,” MJ said, gesturing loosely at the house. “It’ll go better for you.”

From upstairs, MJ heard the music change. Taylor finished singing to the street, and instead MJ heard some Maroon 5 kick in.

“MJ…”

“I’m not going back inside,” MJ said, a little more of her upset leaking into her tone. She looked down at the floor, cursing herself. So what if Shuri had invited her to a party and then ignored her? It was MJ’s own stupid fault for getting her hopes up that something might happen between them, her own stupid fault for imagining the scenarios that might play out.

Shuri took a step closer. 

She met MJ’s eyes, looking serious - and then her mouth crooked into that grin, the one that made MJ’s heart swoop every time. Her eyes warmed. 

She held out a hand.

“Dance with me out here, then,” she said.

_ Spent 24 hours, I need more hours with you,  _ sang out Adam Levine from inside. Down on the drive, MJ stared at Shuri, who kept her hand out, her expression bright and confident - and MJ was frozen, frozen, frozen for long enough that the confidence slipped just for half of one half of a moment -

And then MJ put her hand in Shuri’s.

_ You spent the weekend, getting even, ooh ooh… _

Shuri seemed to light up from within. She took MJ’s other hand, too, and began to move - just her shoulders, back and forward to the beat. MJ groaned and closed her eyes with the awkwardness, but she found herself smiling as Shuri pulled her arms into motion in time, too, grinning.

_ We spent the late nights making things right, between us… _

Shuri hooked the fingers of her left hand through the fingers of MJ’s right, and slipped her other hand free to slide it round to MJ’s back, pulling her in a little closer. She was rocking from one foot to the other and MJ stepped with her, feeling too tall and too clumsy for this moment - 

_ But now it's all good baby, roll that Backwood baby, and play me close... _

\- but Shuri was leading her, a bright smile on her face, and MJ couldn’t seem to stop herself from beaming either. She moved closer, and dropped her head down towards Shuri’s shoulder to hide her smile, and Shuri laughed out loud and spun them in a little circle.

_ 'Cause girls like you run around with guys like me ‘til sundown,  _ sang out the music, as they danced. Shuri pushed her away and then drew her back in, the two of them breaking into giggles as they fumbled for each other again. 

_ When I come through, I need a girl like you… _

Holding her hand up, Shuri sent MJ into a little spin on her own, and she almost spun right away - it was only by reaching for Shuri’s outstretched hand that MJ caught herself, laughing, heady with the delight and the magic of this - of the two of them, swaying on the darkened drive to music from an upstairs room, completely lost in their own little world. They couldn’t stop laughing, couldn’t stop smiling. 

MJ saw most of the song go by in flashes:

Shuri, laughing, leaning her chin briefly on MJ’s shoulder.

Shuri, lifting her arms above her head and twirling, somewhere between slow grace and hilarity.

Shuri, clapping and calling out in excitement as MJ stiffened and moved differently, popping and locking for a few quick beats before shaking her head and reaching to pull Shuri back in.

And then both of them slowly losing their smiles as the music softened, towards the end of the song. 

MJ looked down into Shuri’s eyes, and Shuri looked right back.

_ Girls like you love fun, yeah, me too, what I want when I come through, I need a girl like you… _

“MJ,” Shuri said.

And MJ didn’t know what to say. 

She looked at Shuri, standing there in the half-light of the drive, and wanted to say so many things, but they were all stuck - stuck behind this big weight of feelings, this ever-growing avalanche of care and want. It was terrifying, this - this was terrifying, MJ realised. The pain she’d felt earlier, when Shuri had ignored her… it could happen again. Shuri could turn it on and off like a light switch. MJ had barely felt the graze of the knife-point, tonight, and it had ached so instantly and wordlessly that it frightened her. She could be really hurt by this, she realised with a sinking heart. By what was happening. Hurt badly.

Or she could be as utterly happy as when they’d danced, just now. But it was all down to Shuri.

MJ had no control over it, whatsoever.

She could feel herself losing her breath. Any moment, Shuri could say something that would tear her apart or just make her blush; every single second that MJ was around her was a second that Shuri held MJ in the palm of her hand.

“MJ?” Shuri said again, shifting slightly backwards onto her heels, her eyes clouding with concern.

“I have to go,” MJ found herself saying. And before Shuri could say anything, or do anything - or hurt her - MJ turned away, and left her there.


	6. Chapter 6

MJ avoided Shuri at school. It wasn’t hard; she just stopped looking to catch Shuri’s eyes, only realising how much she’d got used to doing it when she tried to stop.

On the bus, she made sure to take a different seat to usual on the day after the party. When Shuri got on, she hesitated. MJ was sitting right at the back, on the aisle seat, with an empty window seat next to her - she didn’t look at Shuri, just stared at the floor.

Shuri sat in their usual spot, and the space next to her was quickly filled by the next kid to get on.

“What is up with you and Shuri?” Peter asked, as they got off the bus together. 

MJ flipped him off, and walked away.

The days passed. It felt dumb and surreal, but every time MJ thought about just going and putting an end to the silence between them, she felt a beat of that fear. That rawness, that vulnerability. And she kept away one day more.

Shuri didn’t make any effort to corner her or demand to talk, which MJ had half been hoping she would - more than half. The weight in her chest didn’t ease as one week turned into two. Nothing felt right. Her art block wouldn’t lift. ABBA sounded sad. All she could hear playing in stores and restaurants was that stupid song by Maroon 5.

And two weeks became three. If she could just let go like this, MJ thought, then Shuri could never have really cared that much. MJ had made the right choice to walk away. Shuri would have only broken her heart eventually.

She did her best to ignore the way that her chest ached, right now.

***

“Parker, if this is about you missing another AcaDec meeting, I swear to God -”

“No, no, no, I swear, it’s not.” Peter waved his hands placatingly, his phone gripped in one of them. He’d pulled her to one side at the end of History class, and there were just the two of them left in the classroom. “No, no, no. Just, a thing that I wanted to do. For film club.”

“Film club? I didn’t know you were in film club.”

“I thought you knew all my movements? Aren’t you… very observant?” Peter said dryly.

“I - yeah, I - no, I don’t know.” MJ didn't want to say that there had been other things on her mind, this year - didn't want to think about what those things were. “Look, whatever it is, can it wait?”

“Not really. It’ll just take two seconds, I swear, and then you can get back to, like, doing you. Please?” Peter lifted the phone up, and raised his eyebrows hopefully. “Two seconds.”

MJ didn’t have anything urgent to do, and Peter looked too enthusiastic for her to be able to turn him down and not feel like she’d just kicked a puppy.

“Two seconds,” MJ said, keeping a healthy amount of threat in her voice. “What even is the project?”

“Just a montage,” Peter said. “OK, OK, stand there. No wait, the light… there. Uh, let me just…” He fiddled with his phone, adjusting it, holding it steady. “Alright. So, I’ve been going round most people in the year just recording these messages, because, uh…” He paused, looking briefly nervous. MJ raised her eyebrows, waiting for him to continue.

“Spit it out, Parker.”

“It’s Shuri’s birthday so I’m recording a bunch of videos for her and I’m gonna edit them together and make her a birthday video ‘cus it’s her first year here and I thought it would help her feel welcome,” Peter said, in a rush - but MJ barely heard the second half of his sentence. As soon as she’d heard Shuri’s name, she’d felt a rush of feelings sweep in.

“No,” she said, starting to move away.

“MJ, wait…”

“I’m serious, Peter. I’m not doing it.”

“But - it needs you to be in it, what’ll I do about -”

“You can just have a slightly shorter video without me in it.” MJ hefted her bag higher onto her shoulder, heading for the door. Peter made no move to stop her, and it was only when she had her hand on the door handle that she realised she wished he had. She wished someone would stop her, someone would corner her, someone would demand that she say all the things on her mind, so that it wouldn’t be all on her - so that when she said them, it wouldn’t be her fault when things went wrong and she got hurt. She’d be able to blame it all on someone else, something else.

It wouldn’t have to just be her, throwing her own thoughts and feelings out there by choice, with no control over what happened because of them - just the responsibility of having said them.

She realised she’d paused, one hand on the handle.

“You know,” Peter said, “sometimes I imagine being able to tell Liz what really happened last year. I imagine someone giving her some, like, leaked footage or something of me answering questions about it, and she watches it. I wish there were some way for me to - to tell her what really happened. Or just tell her how I feel about it all.”

MJ turned to look at him warily.

“You think it’d make a difference?” she said.

“To her? I don’t know.” Peter shrugged, scuffing one foot on the floor. “To me… yeah. Sure.”

“I can't…” MJ said. She couldn't tell Shuri everything. Couldn't even imagine trying.

“It's just a birthday message,” Peter said.

Standing stock still for a long moment, MJ watched him - and then she dropped her bag to the floor, and moved back towards the lightest spot in the classroom, where Peter had positioned her before. She straightened her collar, and pushed at her hair a little bit to try to make it behave.

She looked at Peter, to find him staring at her.

She shrugged.

“Let’s do this,” she said.

Peter seemed to remember what he was doing; quickly, awkwardly, he pulled up his phone again and stepped a little closer to her, sliding his fingers across the screen.

“Right, right,” he said. “OK… recording.” MJ stood in front of him, back almost against the wall, feeling self-conscious. She pressed her lips together in an almost-smile, looking at the camera.

“So… what do I do?”

“First of all, say happy birthday to Shuri. Just like an upbeat kinda thing.” MJ nodded. She could imagine how the rest of her classmates would have done it - peppy, beaming, cheerful. Doing a decent impression of that was definitely something she could manage. She opened her mouth -

And then changed her mind. Instead, she gave the camera a small, genuine smile, and said,

“Hey, Shuri. It’s MJ. Happy birthday.”

Peter smiled at his phone, watching the screen to make sure it stayed in focus.

“Cool, great,” he said. “Now, I’ve just been, like, asking everyone a couple of questions. Is that cool?”

“Yeah,” MJ said. Her heart was pounding.

“Awesome. Uh, so. How would you describe Shuri in three words?”

Describe Shuri? MJ felt her mind freeze over. She grasped for adjectives, good ones, any ones - anything at all to say. The camera lens winked at her, catching the light as Peter moved it slightly, looking over the phone at her with a little bit of worry in his eyes.

“Uh,” MJ said. “Short.”

Peter didn’t have a hand to smack onto his forehead, but his expression told her just how badly he wanted to.

“Um... nice,” she said.

The expression went from bad to worse. MJ ducked her head, looking at the floor, lips struggling to shape the last word that was sitting on the tip of her tongue.

“Beautiful,” she said. There. And she looked back up to the camera, defiantly.

“Great,” Peter said, his tone carefully light, trying to be normal. “OK, and the other question. What’s your favourite memory with Shuri?”

MJ’s eyes went wide.

A flood of images. Shuri seeing her standing on top of that wall, and smiling at her for the first time. Shuri sitting down next to her on the bus on the first day she rode it. Any one of the thousand times that Shuri had caught her eye in the halls or in the classroom, and there had been that sense of something important happening between them, some future that was on its way to them that bound them together. Shuri singing loudly in the middle of the street; the feeling of Shuri’s mouth against the palm of MJ’s hand as she tried to stop her. Shuri sitting under the bleachers and telling MJ the truth about how she felt about being in America. Shuri coming to sit with her in the cafeteria, and laughing at her taste in music before singing along to it with her. Shuri holding out her hand to dance on a dark driveway at a bad party with absolute trust in her eyes that MJ would take it…

“Um,” she said. 

She couldn’t say it. She couldn’t say any of it. She wouldn’t even know how to translate the wonder of these weeks of knowing Shuri into words; how much they’d given her, helped her, made her happier and more confident in herself. To her utter horror, she found her throat getting thick.

“MJ?”

There was no getting the words out. She felt as though she might cry - actually  _ cry,  _ on camera. Over a stupid birthday message. She dropped her chin, shaking her head and walking away.

“MJ - no - wait, you were -”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sorry, Peter, I can’t, I just - I can’t.”

She picked up her bag, and left.


	7. Chapter 7

The end-of-semester trip was a visit to the Smithsonian in DC, and MJ boarded the bus with heavy steps. It wasn’t that she was nervous, too far out the other side of an “everything is terrible” mentality to feel nerves. Instead, she just knew how hard this was going to be. She anticipated it with a kind of glum acceptance.

Not everyone had bothered to sign up to come, most people choosing to stick around school once they’d heard that there wouldn’t be formal classes on the day of the trip, which was not obligatory - but Shuri, of course, was coming.

This was going to suck.

MJ walked to the back of the bus, sat, and threw her bag down next to her. At least now she could take the window seat without worrying that anyone would try to sit beside her; everyone had been leaving her alone for the past week, even Peter and Ned.

She was trying not to think about it. She’d known there’d be a time when they’d stop putting up with the weirdness and the spikiness and the unfriendliness, and this was it. She’d called it, she’d _known_ it would happen. It wasn’t surprising, was it? So that meant it wasn’t all that sad, either.

It was what she’d been telling herself, and it was almost working.

She’d considered staying behind at school herself, once she’d heard that Shuri, Peter, and Ned were all joined up to the trip - it just seemed too awkward. But she’d already handed in the form to her tutor, and it seemed more embarrassing to have to explain why she didn’t want to go anymore - and personally cringe-worthy to try to come up with a lie to get out of it. Mr Harrington had said at their last AcaDec meeting that he encouraged everyone to go, anyway, and it wouldn’t look good if she, as their captain, flaked out.

So, here she was on the bus. She watched as people filed on, taking up spots, chatting amongst themselves. Peter and Ned slid into their usual seats.

Shuri appeared on her own, looking serious. She sat behind Peter and Ned, without looking over at MJ.

MJ put her feet up on the back of the seat in front, and swallowed hard, and stared out the window.

It was going to be a long trip.

***

The Smithsonian was huge. And it was _fascinating._ MJ found herself getting engrossed in the exhibits, losing track of time as she finally gave her brain a break from worrying; there were things from all over the world tucked away in here. Most of them, MJ noted to herself, had probably been ill-gotten gains. She didn’t specifically know about any of their provenances, though, and gave herself permission to peer through the glass at each one.

No one bothered her. She wended her way through the place at her own pace, checking the time on her phone occasionally to make sure she wouldn’t miss meeting up with her classmates and teachers for lunch.

In a darkened lower room, she found an exhibit on the Howling Commandos; she stood for a while in front of a looped moving picture of a pair of men, laughing.

Steven Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes, read the information board. MJ recognised the face of Steven Rogers; Captain America, of course, the same guy doing those embarrassingly bad videos that were played every day in school.

“... surprised they haven’t taken this down yet. Isn’t Captain America… bad, now?”

“They put out a statement. Said his story is still culturally relevant. I don’t know, I don’t think we know the whole story…”

MJ tuned in briefly to the conversation of a couple of other tourists, behind her. She looked up at Steven Rogers, trying to see a bad man, a war criminal; all she could see, as he laughed, was a man who was totally at ease and completely happy. She knew she should be reading more into this, should be thinking about the societal ramifications that Captain America being in existence had wrought - but all that she could find in herself was a kind of wistfulness.

They were laughing just like she and Shuri had laughed together. As though there was no one else in the world, in that moment, that they’d rather be laughing beside.

She pressed her lips together, and turned away. It was almost lunchtime; she’d take the elevator back up to the first floor -

“Oh, hey, MJ.” Peter greeted her awkwardly, unable to avoid doing so when MJ had almost accidentally walked right into him, only avoiding a collision because of Peter quickly and gracefully dodging out of the way.

“Uh. Hi, Peter,” MJ said. She wanted to walk off, but it felt rude to do so. Peter glanced up at the picture behind her, at Rogers and Barnes.

“Weird,” he said.

“What?”

“Those guys. I mean, they’re from New York. Brooklyn. And now here they are in a museum just because Cap got the serum. It just… it makes you wonder.”

“Wonder what?” MJ said. Peter looked at her; he seemed to remember who he was talking to. He swallowed.

“Just, you know,” he said, sounding nervous. “If they ever guessed anything like this might happen to ‘em.”

MJ opened her mouth to answer - but then she noticed Shuri and Ned coming up behind Peter, looking like they wanted to talk to him. She felt her own face close as she stepped away, without another word.

She wandered around the rest of the exhibit for a little while, hoping that the three of them - Peter, Ned, and Shuri - would go upstairs for lunch before her, and she’d be able to hitch a ride on the elevator alone. Just running into Peter had been bad enough, but having to make conversation with Shuri? Small talk was terrible anyway, but awkward small talk with someone she - someone she cared about, someone with whom she knew she _could_ have conversations that really mattered - she couldn’t imagine anything worse, right now.

Except maybe, like, a lava explosion throughout the whole museum. The attack of a Dementor. Someone walking past with a racist tattoo. The more she thought about it, the lower she had to turn the dial on her own drama. She’d survive a conversation, at least. She’d just _really_ rather avoid it.

After fifteen minutes, when she was starting to be very late rather than just averagely late for lunch, MJ stopped lurking around the darkened Commandos exhibit and headed for the elevators. There were four of them, all in a row - three with their doors closed, one open and waiting for passengers. MJ heard the soft single note that preceded the doors sliding shut for the elevator to move off as she approached; with a quick hop in her step, she managed to slip inside just as the metal panels sighed closed behind her.

MJ felt a little momentary beat of triumph - and then her mouth fell slightly open in horror as she realised who else was in the elevator with her. Standing to one side, hands folded in front of her and a completely indecipherable expression on her face, was Shuri.

She was watching MJ steadily, without smiling.

MJ swallowed. There was no way out of the elevator; the doors were already closed. She couldn’t break her eyes away from Shuri’s gaze as the gentle, slightly digital voice announced,

“Elevator going up.”

Shuri blinked, and the moment broke. MJ looked down at her shoes. At least this would only last a few moments, and then they’d be free. Neither of them would even have to say anything. There probably wasn’t even time for MJ to move further into the elevator; it was fairly big, obviously designed to carry far more people than just two, but she stayed standing right by the doors. She didn’t want to get any closer to Shuri than she needed to. Even the intimacy of being in here, together, felt like too much.

Soon it would be over.

Soon.

Soon -

_Clunk._

MJ’s eyes went wide, and she grabbed for the railing at the side of the elevator. There was no more hissing sound, no sensation of movement. In a rush, she felt horror sweep over her.

They weren’t moving. The elevator wasn’t moving.

Was this what had happened in the Washington Monument, right before it had started to crash down the shaft - only stopped because that guy Spider-Man had happened to turn up?

There was a metallic groan, another clunk. MJ stared around her. Was this what it had felt like, this almost laughably sudden heart-pounding surreality? Had they met each other’s eyes just like MJ was looking to Shuri, now?

“We’ve stopped,” MJ said, trying to sound calm. “Why have we stopped?”

Shuri was looking around at the elevator, and then down at the panel beside her.

“It’s probably just an electrical fault,” she said, sounding actually calm.

“Shit. Shit. **We’re trapped.** Could we fall?”

“No, I don’t think so. The structure of the elevator is not compromised.”

MJ was still holding onto the railing, her palms sweaty. All she could think about was the way that Liz had told the story of the elevator at the Monument afterwards; obviously, Flash had been exaggerating and embellishing it and Ned had been strangely silent and everyone else had just been talking about how scared they’d been, but Liz had only said quietly,

_I didn’t think I was gonna die. And then I nearly did. It didn’t feel possible until it almost happened._

“Can’t you fix it?” she said to Shuri, doing her best not to sound desperate. “Isn’t this like, your whole thing?”

“I left my elevator-fixing toolbox in Wakanda,” Shuri said dryly. “It’s OK. I’ll just ring for -”

Before she could call for help, however, a voice came through the little speaker on the elevator’s control panel; it was tinny and thin, but it sounded like it belonged to a very calm, very reassuring woman.

“Hey, there, girls,” she said. “Just having a little trouble with your elevator, right now. We’re checking where the fault is - thinking it’s probably a fuse issue.”

MJ expected Shuri to say something - to guide them, with her obviously superior knowledge - but she said nothing.

“OK,” MJ said, when Shuri kept uncharacteristically quiet. Her own voice sounded shaky; Shuri glanced over at her, the expression in her eyes shifting - from one emotion MJ couldn’t read to another, however.

“You’re alright,” said the woman on the line. “I got eyes on you, camera 4. Everything is OK, you’re not in danger. Just hang tight, OK?”

“OK,” Shuri said, this time. “We’ll be fine.”

There was a crackle through the speaker, and the line went dead.

The two of them stood in silence. Slowly, feeling her breathing returning closer to normal, MJ let go of the railing. Nothing groaned or moved, and she stood upright again.

After another minute, her hands had stopped shaking.

After another three, she was leaning on one foot, standing casually, paying more attention to her own thoughts than the sound of every individual creak and grind of the elevator as it sat at rest.

After another ten, she leaned gingerly up against one of the walls, and sighed. She and Shuri had said nothing more to each other. Shuri was leaning up against the wall on the opposite side of the elevator, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, hair from her complex ponytail falling over one shoulder.

MJ kept feeling as though she should say something, and then didn’t.

What would she say?

_Sorry for running away._

_Sorry for not talking to you._

_Sorry for being a total mess._

It all sounded so raw and childish and vulnerable and she did her best to stow it, and just look down at the floor.

Her eyes kept being drawn up to Shuri, though. How was it possible that she looked so beautiful in the strange, top-heavy lighting of the elevator? How could it be that even now, after these weeks of silence and strangeness, all MJ wanted was to have Shuri’s head resting on her shoulder - wanted to hold her hand, wanted to be close and in her space?

Wanted to just reach across the elevator, and pull her in, and just - breathe. Just take breath after breath with Shuri being near, in her arms. Feel the moment draw out to infinity, as though they could stay like that forever - Shuri unmoving, except perhaps to shift away just far enough to look clearly into MJ’s eyes for a long, long second, before leaning in and -

MJ blinked, and cut herself off. It wasn’t - she shouldn’t be imagining this, not anymore. She’d already ruined anything between them, if there had ever been anything real at all.

She tried to stare at the floor, and it worked for about ten seconds, until her eyes inexorably turned back to Shuri - who was watching her right back, now.

They stared at each other. MJ could feel her heart beginning to pound again, and not because of the elevator hanging in midair - because of the way this moment was hanging, this breath, this aching second.

Shuri opened her mouth and said,

“I saw your birthday message.”

MJ breathed out, sharply.

No. It hadn't been Shuri’s birthday yet. MJ had been procrastinating on finding Peter to make sure he'd deleted it, but she'd still had time...

That footage - the way she’d acted. The way she’d wished Shuri a happy birthday, too sincerely and softly to be casual, making eye contact with the camera like that. The way she’d listed out words to describe Shuri, the word she’d ended on. The way she’d walked off at the end, when it was too much.

Screw Peter Parker. _Screw_ him.

“Did you mean it?” Shuri said.

MJ didn’t know what to say. She looked down at the floor. It felt as though there were an ocean of space between the two of them, standing in parallel poses on either side of the elevator.

She shrugged.

If Shuri had asked again, or pushed, or said anything more - if she’d even sighed, or turned her head away, to let the moment pass gently into history - then MJ would never have said anything more. But Shuri only stood there, and waited.

She knew to be quiet, MJ realised. She knew that the words were inside MJ’s head, trapped. Words inside her mind, like girls inside an elevator, held hostage.

“I don’t know,” MJ said aloud, but only as a filler, only a precursor. She wanted to talk more, wanted the words to escape.

And Shuri knew it, of course.

“Don’t you?”

“I didn’t even say all that much in the video,” MJ said. She looked up at Shuri, who met her eyes, and lifted one shoulder.

“Didn’t you?” she said.

 _Of course I did,_ MJ said, the words on the tip of her tongue. _I said everything and I didn’t even use words. It was just all there. It was all right there._

“What is it?” Shuri said. “What makes you look like that? You know, I… I understand the way a lot of things work.” She smiled wryly. “But you… it’s so complicated, and I can’t even see why.”

MJ shrugged, again. She was getting sick of doing it. “I’m just scared,” she said.

Shuri went still.

“Of what?”

“You.”

MJ looked down at the floor.

“Me?” Shuri’s tone was a knife-edge, suddenly. “Why? Because of - what I told you, about what I’ve - done? The things that I make…?”

“What?” MJ’s head snapped back up. “Wait, what? No! No, I mean - I mean, I’m just scared because you - you’re just -” Every word weighed a ton. MJ breathed out harshly, tired of her own incapability to word herself properly. “I just - the way I - I feel about you. Shuri…”

Saying her name was a mistake. MJ had missed the way that it sounded in her mouth, missed the closeness of saying it, the intimacy. It made her chest ache.

“You could hurt me really easily,” MJ said, barely above a whisper. “Because - I, like - like you. And I don’t want... to be hurt.”

She frowned as the words left her mouth. There was a new thought pushing its way to the front of her mind, something different, something removed from the endless loop of _I miss her, she’ll hurt me_ that she’d become trapped within over the past weeks. Before MJ could put words to it, though, Shuri had taken a step forward out into the no-man’s-land between them, her expression serious.

She bit her lip.

“I didn’t realise you were feeling like this,” she said. “I thought you just… didn’t care that much.” She shook her head, looking thoughtful, eyes flicking off to one side as she rubbed at one of her arms self-consciously. “I’ve made… a lot of things that have hurt people. I’ve hurt a lot of people, myself. But you should know…” Her hands outstretched, briefly, gracefully, hopelessly, across the too-wide gap between them. “I could hope to live my whole life without hurting you.”

MJ could only stare at her, mouth falling slightly open.

Her whole life? It was a sweeping, impossibly grand statement, but Shuri said it so matter-of-factly that it seemed to be of no consequence - just obvious, just easy.

“You - you really - I…” MJ didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think.

“I told you my brother asked me to come here to give him an analysis of a situation,” Shuri said. “I told you part of why I stayed longer was because I just wanted to try out being a normal girl in an American high school and be away from Wakanda for a while. But the main reason I asked to stay was you.”

MJ felt the whole world grind to a halt. This was too much.

“Me?” she said stupidly.

“When I first saw you,” Shuri said - and for the first time, she, too, seemed to run out of words. She looked at MJ, her expression full of unsayable things.

“You too?” MJ said.

Shuri’s smile didn’t have her usual confidence, but it flowered - shy, hopeful, just a little bit knowing.

“Of course,” she said.

MJ breathed out. All this time, she’d assumed that it was only her feeling things this deeply; only her making a fool of herself with all the emotions and wants and hurts; only her to whom these things mattered so very, very much.

She’d been so devastatingly wrong that it made her head spin, and she found herself taking a step forward. She moved closer to Shuri, who shifted so their shoulders were parallel lines. Their eyes in line, gaze holding.

“I won’t hurt you, Girl from the Wall,” Shuri said.

The thought that had been brewing - the new thought, the break in the loop, from before - suddenly crystallised. MJ said,

“Yes, you will.” Before Shuri could argue, MJ reached out, and tentatively brushed Shuri’s fingers with her own. Shuri reached back, moving just enough so their fingertips pressed and held. “You will. Mistakes happen. Shit gets broken. And you know what?”

The words were flying, now, thought to mouth, without MJ having to strain for them. Shuri was looking up at her, waiting, hanging on her next words with eyebrows raised; it was hard to surprise Shuri, MJ knew from experience, but she also knew that she was just about to do so.

“I don’t care,” she said.

Shuri blinked.

“What?”

“I don’t care,” MJ said. “Seriously.”

“But -”

“I would rather get my ass kicked by you every day forever,” MJ said, “than spend another one without you.”

It was such a terrifyingly true and enormous statement that MJ felt a twinge of the old fear, the old pain - but she couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t be frightened, not when Shuri was lighting up from within, like she did when she was happy. Not when Shuri was swaying closer into her space, with that look in her eyes.

Not when her hand was linking itself more firmly with MJ’s.

Not when she was tilting her head, just a little, to one side.

Not when she was taking a breath in, and leaning her face upwards, chin slightly forwards.

And MJ met her eyes for a long, long, long moment, and felt her chest ache at how absolutely beautiful Shuri was, in that moment, in every moment -

And then she leaned down, and kissed her.

Through her body, it was a thousand volts. No, it was lightning, and nothing less; she almost gasped at the sheer physicality of her instantaneous happiness. This wasn’t pale, this wasn’t thin, this wasn’t like any other kiss she’d ever had - this was brighter than a supergiant star, this was searing sweet and burning lovely, this was everything in the world at once. This was the kiss she’d dreamed of. This was the kiss she’d ached for.

She was kissing Shuri.

And Shuri was pressing her hand to MJ’s cheek, and Shuri was kissing her _back._

It lasted forever, and not for long enough.

Eventually, Shuri pulled away, but she kept her hand on MJ’s cheek. She stroked her thumb, once, across the skin, and MJ felt herself go weak.

“Well,” Shuri said. “I think I should probably be able to fix the elevator, now.”

MJ’s mouth dropped open. “Wait,” she said. “Wait. You -”

Above them, a sudden metallic _clang_ resounded, and they both tightened their grips on each other’s hands; one of the metal panels in the ceiling of the elevator was removed as they watched, and through the gap that was created poked someone’s head.

Someone wearing a red mask, with black webbing designed onto it, and big white eyes.

“Hey, guys,” said the person sitting on top of the elevator, peering down at them. He sounded chipper. He sounded… almost familiar, but muffled. MJ frowned. “Heard there was a problem with the elevator. It’s sort of my specialty, I don’t know if you’ve heard, so..”

MJ swallowed. On her list of impossible things that had happened today… she squeezed Shuri’s hand. This didn’t even rank close to first. She raised her eyebrows at the guy above them, and said nonchalantly,

“Hi, Spider-Man.”

Shuri, meanwhile, had raised her free hand to give the guy a little wave.

“Hello, Peter,” she said. MJ waved too.

And then stopped.

“Wait,” she said. “What the f-”

  
_\- Fin_ -


End file.
